Mommy's On A Diet

Pride In You

2010-08-31T20:30:00.000-07:00

I am proud of you.

I see your goodness and it makes you shine amongst the others.

I see you smile and I resist to make you laugh,

because I can win you over,

but I need to win you fair.

I am proud of you.

You are strong with all your cards.

You fold sometimes,

but it's only to make the others look good.

I am proud of you

and the way you wake yourself up.

Your senses first and then you know

and you uncurl even as I stay coiled.

I am proud of you

and the way you can speak the words I long to say.

The way you pray.

The way you say things I can't understand.

I don't understand.

...but, I am proud of you.

Trust Me, It's A Fake

2009-10-26T14:12:00.000-07:00

Trust is funny.

It makes me laugh, loud and fake.

My nine month old daughter does that now. She fake laughs.

"Here," we say, "I don't find you funny at all. Ha Ha Ha."

But, my daughter doesn't understand any of it. She laughs just because she wants to mimic us.

Ha, Ha, Ha.

Who is laughing now?

Who doesn't know how I have been bleeding?

So much I thought was real, feels fake now.

I hold onto my pillow as I surf myself to sleep.

Instead of peering out the window into the darkness of the night,

I google words like, "organic" and "natural" and try not to think until sleep hits me.

It's not dark in my head that way.

My brain is awash with light,

I try to fool my heart,

"It's not real," I say, "It can't be real."

Because Trust me, It's all fake anyways.

Gymboree- 0 missed calls

2009-10-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

You used to call me during Gymboree.
I didn't always answer.
I have seen gymbo dance for seven years now,
you have been gone for two months.

Everything has stayed the same.
The boldest colors and the sweetest songs,
"Dance Gymbo dance," and Ella dances.
You see her, don't you?
She is changing, and growing and learning to move to the music.

I feel you always.

It hurts in Gymboree when my phone doesn't ring.
When I no longer have the choice of answering right away or calling you back.
I have made the most horrible of choices,
I have left too many calls go unanswered.

Voice mail is not my voice.
I miss you.

Gymboree ends and I have no missed calls.
Oh, how I miss you.

The Twenties Girl By Sophie Kinsella

2009-10-11T10:59:00.000-07:00

There is a reading list.

I see it in my brothers hands.

The books they have read, the words they have run through.

I flip through them and marvel at their minds,

as mine starts to unravel.

My sister loved to read.

Her last year was marked by books.

Funny ones, upbeat ones, ones we shared.

Just this past summer we roamed the bookstore together,

with stacks under our arms.

We shared our favorite authors.

What my sister liked in a book, I mirrored.

She told me, that at her last doctors appointment the news was bitter and tough to swallow.

She said, she looked up at her doctor and then quickly back down at her book.

"I just wanted to get back to the characters in the book" She had said to me, "They were so happy."

She loved getting lost in a book.

She loved the characters.

I have a list of books I have to read.

Some the last books my sister read.

But of all the books I will read,

I will forever treasure the book she escaped to last.

It made her laugh and love,

and then she did what she always did...

she passed it on to all of us, her siblings, to share.

Filling In Blanks

2009-10-08T13:38:00.001-07:00

How do you mourn? They want to ask, but that would be too bold. To obvious.
So instead, they clutch at straws and come up with words to break bread with,
"Your sister," They start and they never finish.
Because in their mind they know that they can't start.
They can't begin,
they can only add the ending,
"She should give you strength." or the famous, " You were blessed with her sisterhood."
So I dip my carbs into anything that looks remotely like mayonaise and fill in all the middles.
I retell the same stories.
I paint pictures of my sister in all her favorite colours, in the clothes she wore so well.
I say things like, "She was a light in this world." and "We were lucky to be loved by her."
But, I choke on my appetite.
It fills me up with all the wrong emotions.
Instead of feeling brutally sad, I feel horrible deep in denial.
I smile at strangers and laugh with those I love.
I tip toe out of my nightmares and lock the doors to my most favoirte memories.
"Come," I say, "Let's walk away from this."
But instead of walking away,
I walk in circles.

The Road Not Taken

2009-10-07T13:14:00.000-07:00

I have travelled down roads before,

some less travelled on.

Some marked with tracks and beaten down by use.

Some I know by memory,

some I have forgotten.

This time It was new for me.

For us.

When I came to Israel I knew I would be racing towards you

and holding myself back at the same time.

I knew the roads would feel like they were all slanting to you,

but I also knew I would lose my balance.

I knew that in my footing was the telltale signs of a little girl.

Unsure.

Going, coming back. Coming to you, turning away from you.

Unsure.

I recognized the roads.

They were painted familiar by other peoples stories.

"The view." They had said, " Is breathtaking."

But, when I got there and my breath was taken, I turned to my brother and said,

"They said it was such a beautiful view. But, Its just a view."

He turned to me sadly, and taught me alot by just saying simply,

"What could they say?"

I know.

I have nothing to say.

I have feelings I can explore, but nothing to say.

The way the road winded towards you and I knew I would soon be standing at your door in Queens.

And now the roads winded and brought me to a mountain of graves.

A home of only heart and souls.

And somewhere amongst them all, G-d had placed my 34 year old sister.

The way I remembered each drive from LaGuardia to your house.

Your beautiful smile full of excitement for my stay.

Now this drive.

I knew you knew we were coming.

I saw your beautiful smile. I just so badly wanted to reach you and kiss you.

Adina,

How I love you.

How I have to come to love you here now too.

There is nothing for me to touch, because your stone is not up yet.

I want to reach for something for balance, but I find myself only coming up with other peoples stones.

I touch it. And I don't touch you.

I want to hold you and feel you.

I want to hug you and touch you.

Instead I end up looking around.

Seeing things through my brothers eyes and my parents eyes.

They were here first,

they travelled these roads before me.

I imagine that.

The way they walked.

The way they walked with you.

I wasn't there that day,

but I find the place my mother sat.

I imagine I know where my father stood.

I see my brothers strong and broken at the same time.

I did not walk with them that day,

but I walk to you now.

Adina, how I loved you.

How I love you still.

How I feel around to try to find something to hold onto.

I walk on this road,

I do not know what comes next.

I do not know.

Sadness Pocketed

2009-09-24T20:50:00.000-07:00

I have sadness pocketed.

I walk around smiling. I take care of my kids.

I order two pies of pizza and fries please.

I say thank you and smile.

But, when I walk to my car-

I put my hands in my pocket and feel the sadness.

I have sadness pocketed.

I say, "Thank G-d, fine."

When they ask me how I am.

I say, "She is so strong."

When they ask me about my mom.

I smile and wave,

and watch them watch me.

"So sad." I hear them say, "So sorry."

I smile,

"It's OK."

See, I'm smiling. It's really OK.

I walk away and keep smiling.

Such a stupid grin I have plastered on my face.

Do you think I fooled them all?

Do you think they think I have nothing in my pockets?

School Notes

2009-09-24T20:46:00.001-07:00

I told my daughters teacher about you.

I wanted her to know that my daughter was loved by you.

That she is still the same seven and a half year old,

but she is missing a great love.

Her teacher smiled and welled up,

she said 34 is oh, so young!

Imagine if I had told her how you sat cross legged on the floor and played Polly pockets with my girls.

How you noticed things about each one of them and made them feel special.

How when you came to visit you unpacked the most thoughtful gifts,

wrapped with love and little notes.

Imagine if I told her how deeply we miss you.

How we have sadness shared between us.

I Sing Out Of Tune Now

2009-09-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

I have not listened to music yet.

I was not allowed to for 30 days and now I am afraid to.

Words are so hopeful when strung together in song,

"Its going to be you and me forever."

So hopeful.

My hope has left me a realist.

Sometimes the worst thing that can happen does happen.

My sister loved songs. She loved them all.

I hear her in every melody, I hear her in every chorus.

So hopeful. So happy.

In ever psalm my mother utters,

I hear my mothers sweet, pure voice and it makes me hear my sister.

It's an echo.

Sing to me.

Sing for me.

The radio is different.

I am afraid of the songs that might come on, the emotions that might get released.

The memories that might find me.

Because we all know I am hiding.

Where I am the music does not play.

Downloading

2009-09-22T17:39:00.001-07:00

I know it will be here soon.

The wave of sadness that can not be held.

I know, because I have held it before.

I have held it close to my chest.

My arms overflowing with this great sadness.

I have carried it out of my house,

and into my car,

and drove it over to my mothers.

"Here mommy, " I say clutching my chest, "I am this sad."

But, she stands there too with her sadness.

Stands there smiling at me.

"Be thankful that she was your sister." Her smile tells me.

I know it's coming.

Tonight I put my daughters to bed.

I placed supper on a plate for my husband.

I kissed the kids, and read them stories.

I thought how good it will feel to scream in the shower.

I know it's coming.

I have held it in before.

I have spoken to my brothers of every possible situation,

all the what ifs and what did we haves?

A lifetime of love in just 34 years is too short.

It overflows in sadness.

It's almost here now.

I am really too little to feel this sad.

I am just a younger sister.

It's 99 percent here now,

this sadness.

You Are Our Heart

2009-09-22T15:49:00.000-07:00

I'm tired, because exhaustion has made my body soft.

Soft and easy to hurt.

I feel the pain of everyday corners striking me on my sides.

I bang into people words and find them so hurtful.

"Everyone" They say.

I wonder who "everyone" is? And who it leaves out?

I let myself wonder and watch "everyone."

"Everyone" in my family sits in groups.

We marvel at our yesterdays and cant fathom tomorrow without Adina.

We hold up pictures to the light and see things we never saw before.

Adina, you were so beautiful to the world. You were so treasured by us.

Everyone can see that.

Everyone knows.

I want to tell everyone that we are devoted to your memory.

That we learn from the way you lived and loved.

I want everyone to know that you were my sister.

Everyone.

I let the words find a way to my heart.

It stings.

Everyone.

Gratitude to G-d

2009-09-16T18:18:00.000-07:00

My parents keep telling me that we have to say Thank you for the gift of my sister. That we must be thankful to Hashem for giving us the gift that was Adina. I want to say sorry, and forgive me, and I miss you. I want to say remember when, and remember always, and remind me if I ever forget. But, tonight I want to just say thank you.
Thank you Hashem for giving me and Liora the greatest older sister. Thank you for making her kind, and warm, and nurturing. Thank you for the bedtime stories she used to tell my younger brothers and I got to listen to. Thank you for our singing contests, that she always won.

Thank you Hashem for making us be able to remember and smile.

Adina had the most original sense of humor. She kept us gals on our toes. She loved her family so very much. I look at my niece, her husband, her in laws. My brothers, My sister, My parents, My children, and feel that they have been loved by Adina. We all were. We are all stamped with her love.Thank you Hashem for blessing us with Adina in our family. Thank you for leaving us with the warm imprint in our hearts.

Thank you Hashem for the gift of my sister.
Thank you for the tremendous light she was in this world.

Thank you for allowing me the privilege of spending her last days together with her.
Thank you for entrusting us with such a special Neshama.
Thank you Hashem.

A letter I found from the beginning of August

2009-09-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

Here it is.

I will write my feelings out and then they will be recognized. 'You see that?" Right there!" My friends can say, "She felt sad. Do you see the way she did that? Between the periods." Its all here. All the pain of no longer being me. Here it is. You can say you received it. I will have written it. Then I can go and on and drown myself in high fats and feign interest when I hear people talking about weight watchers.

The pain is that deep.

Its not even in the words anymore. I used to be able to write and show people my pain in the way my words were running. The way my commas, lined themselves up after words like deflated, alone, worried, sick, sister. Now, I want to get out a camera and capture the images. Because I cant say the words you need to hear to feel like you are living inside my head. Why should I be so alone? Let me make up a photo blog and point in silence.

"You see?" I will ask you, without meeting your eyes, "You see my family?"

And I will take out all my childhood photos and let you adore us. We are that freakin' adorable.

'Here, now please 2009."

My sister.

My father unable to drive back to Toronto until the pain is under control. Pik lines of morphine. My sister reading sophie kinsellas new book. My brothers reading but not registering my pins.

A picture of me, alone.

My younger brothers baking zucchini and sweet potatoes in the oven.

There are some pictures you can not describe. You hear it in your younger brothers tone.

He is in New york.

You are far enough away to just call in.

Dialing. Dialing.

There never is the answer you want to hear waiting for you.

You have to follow it down all the familiar halls.

The way the hospitals do it is damning.

I have been with her there.

I can see my brothers in the cafeteria.

halls and halls of hospital bed.

You see this picture,

this is not my sister in a hospital bed.

This is not her with open scars, and marks.

She is never sick to me.

The words they use to describe her feel like words threading a necklace.

The ones you make in camp out of cereal. The ones I eat.

If pictures can say a thousand words, then these are mine.

But the picture worth the most is the one I can not take.

Because I am not close enough.

Ezra sent me a word, I have a picture of it in my head.

He said, "the doctor said they wouldn't be giving her this much morphine if it wasn't terminal."

I cant not spell.

Screen Savers

2009-09-13T08:20:00.000-07:00

Mourning looks like my younger brothers masked in scruffy beards.

It's the sight of my family eating random foods to try and find something that does not taste like sadness.

My brother made ten eggs with onions last night. We had a buffet of eggs, cookies, Popsicles and pesto sauce.

What a spread of sadness.

I say, "Can I use the computer?" Because I need a screen in front of my face.

We all do.

There are four macbooks open to different pages.

But we, are all seeing the same things.

Adina, how we loved you.

Full On Sad

2009-09-12T20:09:00.000-07:00

I drink fruit punch out of snack size cartons.

I cry in the shower.

I eat cookies in dozens. Eggs in twos.

I smile,

because I don't want to feel this sad.

I'm managing my anger.

I file it away in neat compartments,

"To eat now," To eat later," and "to not eat."

To eat now tastes like butter, Crisco and white bread.

To eat later,

tastes like chicken, noodles and vegetables.

To not eat,

tastes like words.

Words like "Deserve," and "Unforgivable."

But I'm not angry anymore-

I'm not even hungry anymore.

I'm just full.

Speech From August 17, 2009

2009-09-09T19:20:00.001-07:00

Adina, you asked me to speak, you said, "Naomi read one of your letters." Because you knew that what I could not say to you, I wrote for you. Tonight I came home after you closed your eyes with a perfect, beautiful smile on your lips and I can not find the right words. You had them all. You knew what to say and you watched your words and never said things you shouldn't have said. Your speech was perfect. I am writing the letter you asked me to write, but I will forever be rewriting what I want to write to you in my heart.
You were the greatest older sister to me and liora and you were the treasured younger sibling of the older kids. Last night I stood in the hospital listening to mommy talk about what type of baby you were. How even then, in infancy, you didn't want to bother anyone. You never cried, she was saying, you were a perfect baby.
I have these snapshots of you. Perfect ones. That you were beautiful inside and out, no one can deny. That you handled the pain you were in with dignity and with super human strength everyone can attest to. That you were the greatest friend to your childhood friends- is seen in the friends who visited you and held your hand these last few months. That you were an amazing, selfless, loving, and giving mother- we can all see in Liba.
But, you were my older sister. And it's from the eyes of an adoring younger sister that I am writing this letter. We will miss you forever, our family is broken without you. You did everything for us, up to and including preparing us to continue marching on now. Your greatest gift to us siblings was your unconditional love, the way you devoted yourself to us. To our lives. Your greatest chessed was the way you taught us with your emunah. You said "thank you" but a genuine thank you to Hashem even for the pain you were having. "Naomi," I can hear you saying, "everything is Hashem. There is nothing but Hashem. There is only good. Even this is good."
Adina, you were a song. You were always singing your tehillem. Your teffilos. You were always smiling.
I have the strongest memories of you taking care of me. Of you allowing me to sit in the back seat of your teenage years and watch with admiration. You cared for me so well.
As kids, the little gals were known as "adina gals sister" or "adina gals brother". It was a title we loved to have and be known by.
Liba- you are your mothers daughter. My sisters light still shining brightly in this world.
Her tune still singing, Praising Hashem.
To my brothers and liora- you are each amazing. Strong shoulders. You carried adina through these times. I know how safe adina felt with my brother ari, because she mentioned it so many times.
Adina felt blessed to be my mother and fathers daughter. She vocalized it. She got to say how much she loved being loved by them. Adina you were a gift, full of life and laughter. Your life is a gift now. One I will always treasure. Adina, please be mochel me and liora for anything we have done to you. Please forgive me and liora.

Thank you for the gift of my sister

2009-09-09T18:48:00.000-07:00

Tonight we had a business meeting. I had to leave. They were talking of 2 months from now, six months from now, one year from now. 2 years from now. The years were just flying forwards. Every glimpse I had of this future was terrifyingly sad without my sister. It started to add up in my head. 2 months, plus 6 months, plus 2 years. I couldn't do it. I can't always think of moving forward, when backwards is where my memory roams.
In my past, I have never ending images and memories of my sister. In my future, I have none. I ate my fish in sections. Divided into; holding back my emotions, then eating them.
I felt like I would throw up when my tears starting coming. The taste of fish with my own salted waters revolted me. Something was so sad about the way I ran down four flights to my parents.
I found my grandmother watching golden girls. A funeral episode. My grandmother asked "My dear, why are you crying? Is it because the funeral is so funny?"
My father was comforting. My father! My sister would think I was crazy to come here for comfort. I should be bringing comfort, not coming with my baggage- asking them to be filled with their strength.
Please G-d let me hold onto whatever they are riding on. It is so painful without their belief. I feel so lost and terrified.
Tasting tears and fish.
Over and over again.
Swallowing my tears. Eating fish whole.
My parents have faith beyond food. I have one belief. I believe that if I eat everything. Consume it all. I will be unable to feel anything but full.
My father explained that my sister is supremely happy. That only we are in pain. He talks from one gemara to the next. One rabbi to the next. One rabbi lost a daughter.
Another rabbi lost his only daughter.
My father doesn't say he lost his daughter. But, he did. My sister is somewhere. And she isn't here with us.
My father says only the other nations rip their hair out and scratch at their faces when someone dies. Only they scream. My father says Jewish people don't do that because we believe our loved ones are somewhere better.
Only the people left here are sad.

Is it OK that in my sadness I want to be surrounded by my siblings and parents? The people who feel the loss like a gaping whole. The people who we're loved and cherished by Adina. And now have this loss looming whenever love is felt.
My mother and father need to keep comforting me because essentially I'm hopeless. I tell my parents I'm angry at what happened. But that I know we can only fear and love G-d.
My mother responds. "We have to be thankful. We have to Thank G-d. That we had our beloved sister in our family. We have to say Thank you. "

Left Behind

2009-09-09T18:33:00.000-07:00

He says, "She left behind a daughter," Like she just left her there.

Oops, she forgot her most favorite things.

She left them right there.

Did you see that?

Her parents, her brothers, her sisters, her husband, her friends...

her child.

She left them all behind.

I hate that line,

"How many children did she leave behind?"

"She left behind a daughter."

"Her daughter is left."

My sister left nothing behind.

She was taken from us.

We are left without her.... but she did not leave behind a daughter.

My sisters last and loudest thoughts were of her daughter.

She left her in all of our arms.

Hold my daughter and love her until we meet again.

Teach her our ways and sing her our songs.

My sister tied everything up in perfect bows.

She left no strings untied.

She wrote us all letters, and spoke to us all.

She was at peace,

because she was so certain everything was for the best.

My sister did not leave behind a daughter.

I have strings, I have untied strands,

I have left so many things behind me

Unsaid words. Unfelt hugs. Untouched days.

And now,

unclaimed anger.

Grief and Grumblings

2009-09-07T17:12:00.000-07:00

Half a sobeys cake. Guilt ridden in margarine. The way my sadness feels on empty is very different then it feels on full. I can watch my kids, and spend my days moving forward. But, every night I lie awake and know I have never left that hospital room.

I'm moving backwards now. Because I can't bare to go forward without you.

I love you, have loved you, will always love you well.

I look at my youngest daughter and feel that she was loved by you. They all were. All my girls are stamped with your love.

I notice things about them that you pointed out. That you loved about them.

They were so lucky and blessed to have you as their aunt.

I tell them stories about you.

The littlest one says you need to redo her nail polish because it is chipping off.

You know, when I think of you, I think you did it all in 34 years.

I have perfect memories of you. Not one bad. Not one mediocre. Only perfect ones.

You were such a light in this world. We were gifted just by being related to you.

You brought our family closer together.

I work backwards.

This last trip in New york, you were soaring. You felt the holiness you were soon going to be apart of. You were so energetic, you were not sick. You weren't! The doctors told you that you were sick, but your mind was so beautifully free of all the labels on your medicine. You were full of belief.

I sing your songs now.

I don't know all the words, and my voice isn't as sweet. I am not as peaceful nor as loving as you, but I find myself humming your songs. Singing your praise.

And you would smile, because I notice your other siblings are doing the same.

We love you so much.

I want you to feel it. I want you to look down and know how loved you are.

That we are searching through pictures, memories and letters from you just as any family would.

But....

we are different.

We have your strength, your beautiful faith, your complete trust in Hashem-

we have that still.

Its yours!

And we are holding onto it and not letting it go.

My sister,

I would love to go backwards and have been more caring. More giving. A better sister to you.

It is so cruel to have to go forward without you.

So sad.

Unbearably hard.

Please look down and see me trying for you.

Untouchable

2009-05-05T18:06:00.000-07:00

I have changed,

but I look the same to you.

I must sound the same,

because you do.

I don't let you see my weakness even though my body tells on me.

I blink and hide my tears.

I eat ten meals a day

and chew on my hate.

I hate myself like you must hate me.

Passionately.

Painfully.

Last night I stayed up thinking of some of my favorite moments.

The images were so fun to hold,

to hug.

Then I tried remembering my last few years.

I had some award winning moments,

but the strangest things happened...

in all my snapshots of the last few years...

I can not see myself.

It scared me.

I tried to concentrate and see myself.

But I wasn't there.

Today I told my mother, my best friend,

and she told me it's because I don't do anything for myself.

But,

I don't think that's true.

Everything I do for my kids, is for me.

It brings me an unparalleled joy.

I shiver,

I have not gone in photos in the last couple of years.

Its so strange that even in my mind there are no proofs.

I have changed.

And I am waiting to change more.

When you change,

do you think? Is it possible?

You will change and notice me?

Hide and No Seek

2009-05-05T17:59:00.000-07:00

I have lost it.

Completely. Totally.

I don't even know where to find it. Or what it would look like.

I know I look lost,

but it's because I am.

I came here looking for somebody, and found you.

And then, I forgot who it was I was looking for.

Remind me what the past looked like.

Where worry was one chord of a string of things,

not this.

High strung and holding shoe laces in my hands.

Remind me why you have forgotten us?

Why when I am crying and lost-

you can not help me.

Because I know you remember.

You have forgotten us.

I see you.

You have it all. The keys to start ignitions,

the memory of how it all was

and on your lips you have the words to bring me back.

But you have forgotten us,

and you forgotten me.

I am so lost that I am losing hope of ever being found.

I know you don't have the time,

but please, if someone comes looking for me...

I know my mother will, mothers never give up-

please...

show them where I am hiding.

0 comments

2009-02-07T16:11:00.000-08:00

Its the silence I write in that fits me best.
It's quiet, and I am loud.
I imagine it fits me well..
this silence.

It is so tight and so constricting.
So silent and so frightening.

That sometimes when there are 0 comments,
and I know I am eternally unheard of...
I take a shower,
and run the water boiling hot.

...and then I scream.

I imagine the silence is good for you too.

Perfect

2009-02-06T11:28:00.000-08:00

Perfect.

She asks the smartest questions and doubts our answers.

She is that smart.

Who buried Paroah when he didnt drown in the red sea?

When he was sent back to egypt, who went with him?

She wonders.

When the redemption comes will we still give birth to babies?

And will people die?

She asks innocently how my grandmother survived my aunt?

"Did she visit her in the hospital?" She wanted to know.

And then she dreams in nightmares,

that only my own dark mind can understand.

We paint our dreams the same shades of black,

and I smile when she asks to say a prayer for sweet dreams.

You are my smartest weapon.

My greatest gift.

My truest love,

my first chance at motherhood,

and my smile...

I miss you painfully when you are at school.

I think of you always,

I see your face smiling at me,

mirroring mine...

and I love you endlessly.

I hope you had a great day at school today.

I prayed for it.

unresponsive and happy

2009-02-06T11:08:00.000-08:00

You are happy.
I find myself trying to fit in somewhere amidst your happiness.
But, I'm too darn noticeable.

I pin you and you read my pins,
and you don't respond.
send. read. respond.
That never happens.
I send. you read.
no one responds.

You are happy.
And I find myself happy for you and lost for me.
Losing 30 pounds in one week and then eating Hershey's chocolates to
counteract weight loss and feeling lost.

Where are you? When you could be right here?
When I have folded back the covers for you,
and sent out all my pins?
And waited the wait of the restless woman,
because it's never getting any shorter or easier.

You work like mad. You toil, I toss.
You turn, I'm turning.
We just never seem to be in the same place at the same time.

You left me at home,
bound by my recent Cesarean.
Feeling lonely for you.

And watching your happiness prelude us.
I am so happy for you.
Because that's how I love you.
Unconditionally,
even when your love for me,
is unresponsive.

I Doubt It

2009-01-27T18:37:00.001-08:00

Why don't you love me more? Miss me more?

Come and see the new holes I have made,

incisions replacing indecision's.

My motherhood, like a manhood mocked...

seems smaller now, and smaller still,

shrinking to fit a mold I am now forever in.

Those woman at the mall, those questions they ask,

are they rhetorical?

All natural? They used to wonder...

and only now, un natural- do I feel the world sting.

Why don't you see the holes and try to fill them?

Reason with love and rid me of this worry.

Find a way to hold me when you hands can't reach me.

Why?

It's the only question that haunts me.

This love, this madness, this passion that creates things.

Then daughters.

Then doubt.

Why don't you hold me in place and tell me you need me?

You see me.

You know me.

And that your right here beside me.

Because when I look,

I see myself shrinking and I'm scared you do too.

My Pain Is Relative

2008-11-20T16:56:00.000-08:00

A few months ago my brother asked where my blogging had gone?

I never responded.

Because I like to think it went somewhere.

I like to think that in the months I was silent,

you were aware...

Your Sister

2008-11-20T16:45:00.000-08:00

I get the kids to bed.
I imagine myself falling apart when they are asleep. So they may still think I have it all together.
Such Innocence.
Their lunch divided into all pink containers of sweets and only their most favorite of foods.
Because their mother knows best, and often, and is always on time.

I get them into their beds and I race down to pour my words out.
Almost said, "my heart out." But, my heart is racing, beating too fast-
that I cant contain it and squeeze out words.
I can just push buttons.

Emergency Exits. Stop. Guilt. Sisters.

But, I am a mother first.

And I AM always there first.
I pull into the parking lot of my daughters school excited to see her every single day.
We have been apart for 6 hours and forty five minutes.
And every single day, I am the only mother brimming with excitement.

I have missed you, my daughter, for six hours and forty five minutes.

And my other two girls are still home bound. One is in school for three hours and the other hardly ever leaves my side.

Except now when they are in their beds, and I can be something other than their mother.
I can be someone I was before.

Your sister.

Minimum Payment

2008-11-17T14:34:00.000-08:00

It all comes back in circles from here. Even the things we did not say. Even the words I dared myself to write.
Or right.
But it's all wrong and all not taken.
Because, I'm sitting here now- months after the facts.
weeks after the feelings.
Days,
moments-
seems like yesterday.
when it was long before this calender month.
And I'm eating the words I never said.
They taste like cardboard, cut up-
tiny,
to get it all down.

But, that's how it goes.
In circles.
From here.
From Now on.

Because we at least have to pay the minimum payment.
And this is my due.
Interest free.
This is my blog.

Read it.
Because in the missing pages of this blog.
Is the hardest cardboard to digest.

Hanging By A Word

2008-07-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

My brother says we are hanging on just by words now.
And I understand.
The currency of having to say the right things, when you have already said all the wrongs.
And darkness always feels so much better than the light.
And you hang on because you believe it'll get dark again.
But, I don't.

I walk away,
and like to leave them hanging on to my words.
my thoughts.
my moments when I'm no longer in them.

But you are perfect, where I am short changed.
you are forgiving, where I am forever reminding.
You are angry, where I am even. in accord.
You are different, where I am always still the same.

My brother says we are pulling apart.
and hanging by words.

But, does he know which ones?

Push Ups

2008-07-10T18:09:00.000-07:00

There are rules and you break them into pieces all around me.
I step on fragments that used to be wholes, and hearts..
and now they are shreds, sharp and pointed-
your finger aims where my heart rips.

"How is your exercise going?" You ask,
and I want to stop and move backwards.
Gain my ten pounds back.
stop driving half hour to my trainers house.
start eating Reese pieces in buckets.

You make me want to give up. gain weight and
shed my shit in your most favorite places.

But, I wont. Not this time.
Because I have done that all before. for you.
for those like you,
and I am doing this now for me.
and those like me.

Your finger is so accusing and maddening.
I can't help but feel it throughout my day.

It finds me and points,
and picks.

me apart.

Disappointed

2008-07-04T13:23:00.000-07:00

You disappoint.
Like movie popcorn after I have inhaled it all.
Why would someone eat a bag with that much popped fat content?
Why?

You disappoint.
Like your bites when they leave no mark.
And only I know I have been bitten by you.
Why?

You disappoint.
Like my memories.
I remember it all.
The way I used to yell right the hell back.
But why?

When I can say calmly,
you disappoint.

Doesn't that hurt more then any words I can scream at you.

You disappoint.

Strapped In For The Ride

2008-06-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

Life and death.
I ask my brother as we drive. Grilled cheese on our laps.
Feeding french fries to the strapped in kids.
Our restaurant on wheels.

"How do you cope?" I ask, "How do you keep your mind going throughout the day?"
and he answers,
"People can learn to live with anything."

Or die with everything.
still.
waiting.
for.
it.
all.

I am one of those people. I feel older than my 29 years.
I feel like a spokesperson and a sales lady.

Today, I am holding onto all the things I want to say.
And I'm selling you my peace of mind as a trick.

See, I can fool you too.

People can learn to live with anything. And I am learning.
I am following in everybody Else's footsteps.

my brother.
then another.
walking behind my sister.

If its true,
If we can truly learn to live with anything,
then why can't I?

Like Loss

2008-06-25T19:51:00.000-07:00

Trust me. I have been there before.
Your story sounds so similar to the way I remember all the recesses in my mind.
Places I felt crammed into, defined by.

Trust me, I have laid in your bed.
I have sniffed at your sheets, trying to hold onto a scent I cant always be certain is only yours.
Perfume and Cologne are sold in multitudes.
you think its only yours, but it reminds me of someone else.

Trust me, I have clung to you.
My nails have left their mark-
and you feel it now,
only now that I am gone.

Trust me,
You will miss me in places you didn't know you could feel.

Trust me.
It will be so similar, but nothing at all, like- loss.

Trust me.
I have never fully trusted you.

No Excuses Here

2008-05-22T20:04:00.000-07:00

She says, "say no once." And I nod like I understand. I back out of her driveway and drive backwards to my house. Going somewhere always takes longer. Coming back seems easier. I'm no fool, I know my way back home.
I know how to get there quick.
With her I try.
I spend one hour pushing myself to my max. Running in place never felt so moving.
I tire myself out, and to be honest I can get to Bathurst and still hear my lies,
Or the truth I wont speak.
"Yes," My nod agrees, "I will say no just once."

No.
Do not do this to me.
Do not make me watch those I love suffer.
Do not give me front row seats.
Do not make me look in the mirror and smile.
Do not leave me guilty for things I have.

No.
I can not say it
I can eat it. In double portions... with my favored feta cheese on top.

No.
I will not succeed.
I will exercise my hour away, but not the other 23.

No.
I can not do it.
I can not say no, not even once, out loud.

No,
No,
No.

It's so silent and pathetic the way "no" sounds in my kitchen,
With the sound of the oven humming,
and the dishes piled and discarded on my counter top.

No.
I did not say No even once today

Bridge Over What?

2008-05-18T18:49:00.000-07:00

You are my bridge.
I could not have crossed without you.
I knew what was on the other side. Like rainbows and fairy tales, I don't believe in other peoples shit.
But, your hair smelled so nice.
I wanted to only write about my sister.
And scream.
Because screaming would give me a voice that can't be misunderstood.
"So that's how you feel. Why didn't you just say so?"
Because, I can write about all my words, and all my pangs-
but my sister.
She is untouched.

You are my bridge.
And I have crossed sides.
I look back and I don't remember not having you.
Did G-D send you looking for me?

Somewhere there is a girl and she is lost.
Find her.
And bring her across.

You are my bridge.

My husband lets you walk me across.
Because he can't.
Because he loves me too much to watch me bleed.
So, I smile for him to see me smile.
And I walk like I have poise...
but you know better.

Don't you?

You know that I have clung to you and made it seem like you needed me.
And I have told you things with a sideways look,
because head on the lights always blind you.

You are my bridge.

But I have to go back.
Alone.

Did you know that?
That I would cross with you, but have to go back myself?

Dragon Breath

2008-05-12T06:40:00.000-07:00

Dragon Breath.
You breathe near me and I feel burnt.
Its in the way you inhale in my face.
Even your breath tastes like chewed up words, spit in my face.

A platter of food separates us,
but we are really worlds apart.
I sit still and swallow all my words.
They taste like hate and go down roughly.

I finish a bottle of water and still, I feel like it can come back up.
The water.
The words.
The way I swallowed the things I should have said.

"You can be our spy." You said.
Am I really not enough for you?

Your babysitter. Your garbage.
Your bag to punch and fill with anything.

Your nothing.

I carry my silence like a badge.
I am proud of all the things I never said.

They fill me with anger.
But, I am able to lift my head, look in your eyes-
and know I did not fill you with anything but my silence.

But then,
when I least expect it-
my own husband looks at me,
and finds me wrong.

And I cry.
Because I have done everything for you and nothing to you.
And all the ways I have sacrificed,
seem like nothing.

But, my dear-
If I stand up and speak.... I slay the dragon.

Are you ready for that?

wealth stored. never enough said.

2008-05-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

We are all the same.
Our smiles are relative
"Are you really having fun?" We ask, "with me?"
Because we are that unsure of ourselves

We stand and eat at counter tops and feel like royalty.
We pinch for pennies and feel rich.
I repeat our jokes like they are gold,

increasing in value with each retold verse.

Realization

2008-05-07T10:26:00.000-07:00

I do not know anyone like you.

I like myself least.

And I, I Like You Alot

2008-05-04T07:48:00.000-07:00

You can not say it like you mean it.
because you mean less.
And I can run over words,
and fly over speed bumps,
with only vowels in my mouth and somehow I make sense.

Locked Out And Leaning Down

2008-05-04T07:37:00.000-07:00

So I cant get into my blog. But that's OK. Sometimes the best view is from the inside out. The outside looking in. I'm on your computer and I'm enjoying the sound of your keypad. Its louder then mine and it makes me feel more like a writer and less like myself. I cant possible feel less then I do already. tonight I got invited out with my husband out of default and i turned him down. ...by that same default. He left me sitting on our front steps and i sent him out with all the reassurance i could muster. He collected them like bouquets of forgiveness. But only a man accepts potted plants as flowers. My words were rooted to my heart. He took my words, but he cant keep them. They are attached to my heart with strings. He will know this when he comes back tonight, and I look as if i have been pulled.
I am not yesterdays girl. I am ever changing. I am moving so fast away from who i was.
but I want to pause.
and rewind.
was that me today sitting with my father. making him pull his legs in, so i could mope by his feet. Not answering any of his questions. posing only rhetoric's.
What if? is my mantra now.
what if I could stare right back at my reflection. And hold my own gaze.
I am falling apart. Halves and quarters and divided in widths.

Visions Of You

2008-04-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

I love you silently, but i have the strongest voice. I use it sparingly, when once it was all i had. I'm in my own kitchen and your talking down to me. I smell feta cheese and watch your tears pierce your eyes. I speak calmly but with certainty. You are wrong.
The world has wronged us, but you have added your own insults to our injuries.
How can my mothers purse on my counter, evoke such pain? How does my grandmothers bowl of jewelry make me wince? Wasn't I made stronger? I feel the only combat to my weakness is high fat and sugar intake... because it binds me to my own selfish thoughts.
I want to reach you and touch you and hold you....
but I'm chained with my food and weighed down with this guilt.
I want to touch you and hold you and reach you...
But I'm in my kitchen, an hour before our conversation. And in this hour before our conversation, things seem important when really they are insignificant. I should let you walk out without crying, but i have to fight for my fathers dignity... because it seemed important.
But its not.
Honour falls thought the cracks.
Love blinds you and leaves you alone.
Sex makes you move to places you would never have gone to alone,
food fills you and leaves you with no room for anything else...
and time.... moves on throughout it all.

The hour passes and you call.
I read my mothers eyes, before I even have to hear her speak.
I feel so close to you and yet I can't touch you.
Because space has pulled us apart.
We are in different cities,
and when I talk to you, I fall silent.

And then after,
I see it in every ones eyes.
My mothers calm and certain stare.
My brothers bewildered eyes.
Mine are scared and wild,
and yours I can not see.

I love you silently, from afar.
Choking on my tears.
Unable to see far enough.

resentment stuffed in the bottom drawer

2008-04-15T19:28:00.001-07:00

When I resent you I'm usually on my knees somewhere. Tonight I was unpacking groceries and trying to get my industrialize size bag of carrots to fit into my refrigerators bottom drawer. You were eating potato salad out of the jar. Rendering it a single serving. You have these ideas and they are so big and I don't even hear them. Your telling me what to buy and my purchases are scattered across the shelves. Now, what not to buy. I feel like a child. On my knees.
My mother is making her motions over your shoulder. Warning me to behave. I feel like asking to be tucked in for the night. But, that would make me different them my siblings. I don't want to be different. I want to be able to stand shoulder to shoulder with my brothers and feel similar.
But I'm spending myself away from them.
Elbow noodles. Can we really have a conversation about how they are the kosher pork of passover?
I remember how my mother speaks. Her words always catch up to me.
Tonight she said how she feels embarrassed. Or, she should feel embarrassed.
And that her rabbi said in astonishment, "embarrassed?" And he laughed.
"You know who should be embarrassed, people who sin! That's embarrassing!"
And then I'm on my knees again.
Your right.
And I am always moving in so many wrongs away from you.
I have found that if I stand up slowly I can stop my resentment from rushing to my head and blowing up all sorts of proportions.
I can see things clearly.
But sometimes resentment is better then clarity.
Because clarity feels a whole lot like guilt.
The carrots have somehow squeezed themselves into my bottom drawer,
and when I stand up slowly,
I see you seeing me.
And I'm ashamed.

Chicken Finger Cop

2008-04-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

I look forward to looking back.
Not through rear view mirrors. Because, then you would have seen the cops lights flashing.
But with you in my mind.
I will look back and see your eyes smiling. Mine smiling back.
Laughing like teenagers who have just gotten caught speeding.
Yet, we drove too slow,
sat too still,
found the sauce sticking between our fingers-
and our laughter fogging the windows.
I will look back with longing. I will turn my entire body back- to catch the way we have started to grow old together.
Some people have memories. We will have living memories.
Because whatever we have done together- we will do together again.

Re:

2008-04-13T18:12:00.000-07:00

V necks plunging.
Rules reiterated.
Things that are forbidden:
my sisters boyfriend.
Late nights at the park.
mixed swimming venues.

Hearts racing.
Reasons repeated.
Things that are forbidden:
Television.
Magazines.
and talking like you have doubts.

Foods crammed in.
Alcohol revisited.
Things that are forbidden:
Pants,
Short sleeves,
and dressing like you dont know better.

Fears unfolding.
One Lie retold.
Things that are forbidden.
Taste better,
feel faster.
and make you move.

Oven Ready

2008-04-13T18:02:00.000-07:00

In Your absence I grow stronger.
I hear the words falling around me.
Nothing seems to touch me,
I touch them.
Beneath me their words crumble.
Like cake, yes... maybe.
But, so what if I have had my cake and eaten yours?
Food is my fault.
The rest is theirs.
Didn't you tell me once how "they" are "everywhere."
You are not here.
I stretch out on our king size bed.
I make my mornings without you.
I fold my afternoons into halves,
quarters and then minutes.
It's fifteen minutes to bedtime and I'm embaressed when I notice I'm counting down.
But also counting to you.
My love for you is even in your absence.
In the messages we do not send.
In the way I am better because you have held me.
And loved me,
even for nights spent away from you.

Thanks For Coming

2008-04-08T21:37:00.000-07:00

Shame is free.
It's like a party favor in your house.
"Oh your leaving?" you ask me, "dont forget this."
And then before I know it, Im holding my insecurities in my hands.
My weight, my looks, the way "mine" is always "yours."
Is this some sort of loot bag?
Exploding in my face?

Predictions

2008-04-06T19:39:00.001-07:00

You are predictable.
The sad drives I take can never get me far enough away from you.
But tonight,
amidst the noise,
the empty gas tank signal,
my phone battery going critical.
I had my own little prediction.
Fancy that.
It was the summer and we were apart.
And all your little declarations of love,
were nothing but just that.
Little.
And I said,
maybe not far enough away.
But, oh! so predictable.

Can I Ask You To Say A Few Words For Me?

2008-03-30T18:55:00.000-07:00

You ridicule me.
Your sentence just starts travelling and I explode.
Your hands on my shoulder massaging an ache...
and I turn on you.
My eyes more green then grey.
My "What?" has more spit in it than force.
But I want to say "Why?"

"What did you just say to me?"
That's a question you can repeat.
But "Why did you just say that to me?"
I'm not sure you really even know.

We make ourselves excuses,
and then we drape ourselves in them.
But, I want you naked.
Stop hiding. Excuse yourself.

Come out and let me ask you why?
Why?
And in your answer I will dress you the way you appear to me.
Red.
Because you are bold, where I am weak.
You are sure, where I am uncertain.

And repetitive.
Why?
Why?
Why?

Love Leaks

2008-03-30T18:45:00.000-07:00

Love leaks.
I've always thought that.
You can have alot. You can feel like you couldn't possibly love him more. Harder. Deeper.
You walk around with the smile of satisfaction filling your face and everyone knows your in love.
But, try just once to transport it and it leaks.
I loved you in Toronto,
I carried my love in what felt like Ziploc bags, piled high in my arms.
This is how I love you, I seemed to say.
Labeled reasons not ever enough to show you just how much I cared.
But we travelled too much.
You didn't always sleep in my bed.
Your face had marks from the couch,
telling me how comfortable and just how close you got to the leather.
Love leaks.
Slowly,
And before I knew it, Some of my bags had nothing in it.
Just labels on empty Ziploc bags.
"Your smile" says one. And I try to remember.
Did I really love your smile once.
Now it appears planned.
Always on your face before the joke even leaves my lips.
And love leaks,
You get as close as you can. You love as deep as you imagine you can go. You hold on.
You make promises.
But, then it starts to leak.
and trickle out.
And we look up, into each others eyes...
and pretend we don't feel this wet.

There goes my time

2008-03-02T15:30:00.000-08:00

There goes my time.

Alloted for and spent with sunshines and tangled knots in my daughters hair. The sand inbetween my toes and on the bottom of my pants. The way you look at me beneath your sunglasses. The sun keeps setting, till there are no more. You point out an eclipsed moon, but i will catch it later.

All later.

When im sitting down and my knees cant reach my chest. And my chest seems gripped with a spasm or an ache. But it's not right. And I like to imagine how i will be remembered.

In black. Happiest with my kids.

my blackberry got me used to life with no periods

2008-03-02T15:26:00.000-08:00

my brother said,

"write it all down. there should be nothing that embarrasses you."

i agree

then turn red.

and away

from places we might never drive to together

alone i go so fast

past places i used to recognize

then forgot

with a soundtrack of sadness

and a bag of tears

unopened

on the passenger seat.

"write it all down"

i agreed.

it embarrasses me.

Its The Eyes Or Its The Child

2008-02-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

I see it in their eyes.

The look of satisfaction in their artwork.

Then pride when you conceede in its beauty.

The shared way my kids smile with me,

and how I cry when they cry.

Maybe not a flood of tears and the feet stomping motion-

but I feel my heart being squeezed by their little hands.

I see it in the way their eyes find mine,

when we are in a crowd of people-

they search for me.

I like the way their smile breaks when mine just starts.

And we see each other, clearly- with just a glance.

When its bedtime,

and I'm sharing my bed with just one of them,

I like the way they see me in the dark.

Their feet find my face and i smile at the size of them.

Growing to walk away from me.

I can love deeply, madly and often.

I can stepped on and thrown away,

I can get told off, cursed at and spit on-

but I wont get scared off.

Because in my eyes it all unconditional.

And all for you.

Because I'm the One Who Leaves You Lonely

2008-02-06T12:24:00.000-08:00

You are my misery. A love that comes around knocking.
Of course I just have to open the door.
And your standing there in your jeans. Hand picked by me. I knew they would hugg you.
"One second," I say, "come on in, ill be right back"
But, I never return.
Not for you. Not for me to hear you say you love me,
not for us.
You end up letting yourself out.
And I don't hear the door close behind you,
because in my heart now you make no sounds.

White Flag Waving

2008-01-22T17:02:00.000-08:00

I like to think I am guarded. By my faults. I never get to close, without setting myself apart. I will always be eighteen in my mind, making the poorest of choices on an empty stomach. And the only thing that separates me from my crazy, wild, friends- is my family. I have a place to go home to, no matter how late and how hard I have fallen. I can come home masked in shame and my family will still recognize me.
I can touch and be touched and fold my hands in shame. I can stand with my feet spread wide apart and my hands stuffed in my pockets. Scared someone will catch the way I am starting to rot. But, my family will wash my hands for me. Scrape at my pains, rinse, repeat and find the person I am underneath.
All week long I can sin the sins of disregard and intentions. And on Friday night I can spread my feet out to be massaged and ask for forgiveness. Explained.
Forgiveness explained.
Its that powerful.
I can travel the world and start only at 17. I can make new friends and break away from old ones. I can grow wide, and hide underneath only black clothes- but my family will still find me and bring me back.
Its a love no one takes back once it's given. Its unspoken and still screaming in my ear.
It why I know I will be OK.
But, this week- I tripped.
I feel so flat on my face, I couldn't hide the look of surprise I must have had.
And they didn't have to ask, they knew...
I fell so unbelievably hard.
I got caught missing you in bursts or sadness,
solitude,
pangs,
my spaces,
and then the ones I share.
I was so embarrassed to find myself caring this much.
And I came home, looking miserable and torn.
My family didn't say anything.
They washed me off and held me close.
They strung their fancy words like ribbons through my room-
you are,
you will be,
you can,
you will.
And I know that I am nothing by myself.
And only,
always,
a part of this amazing family.
I feel like holding up my hands
to show you I have surrendered.

My Brothers

2008-01-21T17:20:00.000-08:00

When I am with my brothers I can't help but feel special. I think other people must notice how I shine. I feel safe in their shadows. They are funnier, smarter, kinder and safer then me. If I can just let go and hold on to what they have- I can survive this ordeal. I try and catch the way their eyes look down, because I want to see what they are so transfixed with at their feet. I cant get my head out of the dark clouds.

What do you want from me? I can only hurt you with my lack of faith. It can only let you down. I see your motherhood and the way it works. backwards. Like clockwork. You were never there when we were little. Your face was always in a prayer book and now it seems you have memorized it all by heart. You have everything you need to slumber through this nightmare- and the rest of us- we have to walk, fully awake, like zombies- through hospital corridors. I know my sentences run on. I have said it before. My lack of intellect sets me apart from my brothers. In scrabble games. In conversations. In hospital waiting rooms. I am always a brother. Its like the sisterhood didn't fit me well and i never tried this on for size. But now it fits. Being with my brothers has always been the safest place for me. One brother came up to me when I was praying the names of the righteous and he asked me, "Are you really going to do that? Do you really think saying names is better then saying psalms?"

Is that a question I look like I could answer? My faith has finally caught up with me and it is too little to make me run. I stand still and look at other peoples faith, marvelling at my own. My mothers looks interesting. Its bullet proof, a blend of blindness and dare I say stupidity. My brothers are classical. The eternal student.
One repeats "this is so difficult" like a mantra.
I have my own catchy phrase, but I was raised to well to repeat it.

Forget Me

2008-01-20T18:03:00.000-08:00

Lately, I feel like letting go.
Because the weight of the world, should not fall on my shoulders.
and you know you let go first.

I followed.
Ava says I never followed anyone,
and i danced like no one was watching,
because no one was.

Unlovable, its my mantra,
my tune.
The saddest love songs play in my ears,
because you never run as fast,
as when you are being chased.

I feel like giving up,
if it didn't feel like i was giving in.

But you did it first.
You were silent,
please in your silence,
can i be forgiven?

forgotten.
and then gone.

Thought I Heard You Cry

2008-01-20T16:39:00.000-08:00

Sadness built itself up in me. It wasn't always beneath the surface.
"I am uncharacteristically, boldly, unequivocally sad. That's how I feel." I said. Then I piled towels and water bottles into a stroller and went to watch my kids swim.
I am dressed in black, but my insides are palmed, falling in tears down my face.
I think the saddest thoughts and then I think about you.
I pull at my black tee shirt, I imagine it off.
I would swim the length of the pool and then back.
I would stay under and hold my breath till I knew my kids were searching for me,
then I would reappear and smile.
"I tricked you." I would say and we would laugh.
I am so painfully dry, it hurts when you enter.
I watch the kids swim and marvel at the water.
I stay dry, sane, and then sad hits me.
I wipe at my eyes,
I read my book even though the page is blurry.
I hide.
Sadness built itself carefully, so as not to stir any attention.
And my mother and husband say, "let it all out..."
But, I haven't the chance to.
I bottle my emotions back up,
I press pause,
then rewind...
and wait for someone to play me again.

You Missed Me

2008-01-15T12:39:00.000-08:00

I was walking with you when I noticed you had let yourself fall out of step. You casually slowed down and I continued and only when I started to wipe at my almost always dry eyes, did I realize why. In you slack you were leaving me to pretend I was not hurting. You were saying with your body what you have never said aloud. All my fears, the building of my forts, the way we slip in and out of our shades- and then It came to me in sudden waves of discomfort. A tear, the tears. By the time you caught up to me, our lives had resumed its shape. A puzzle refitting to let no one notice its missing one piece.

Not Going Anywhere Fast

2008-01-10T12:44:00.001-08:00

It's a vacation, Damn it!
It implies things. I want to run my hands through my hair and then I remember it's not my hair. I want to tell you to get lost, but then I can't find my voice. You make me something I am not. Over and over again. I don't recognize myself when I am telling you things. I put myself in so many places and always down.
Everyone has a somebody and I am yours. Well yours and anyone Else's. I don't play games. I just lose them. First the pieces, then the box. Then I just stand there- with the instructions, and look over the french side. It's easier to not understand what they want from you.
What don't they want from me?
I feel like they will take what ever they can. My peace. My time. My solitude. My motherhood. I am nothing but who they need me to be at that moment.
It is something I was looking forward to.
Now back.
I try and remember how I felt before this.
I felt like I was planning something and it was so unique and different- because this thing I was planning was for me.
Now, it is for everyone but me.
I think at times I know my worth,
I see it in the way I am pushed and pulled on.
Pennies really.
And who counts the pennies,
when all the other coins look so shiny and new.

Your Subtle Positioning Of Self

2008-01-08T16:01:00.000-08:00

You were always neat. Orderly. You had a small bag. You kept your things inside. You needed a small space. You didn't like clutter.
Breath.
Imagine it has nothing to do with you.
I picture my chaos and the way in envelops you. My Shit disturbing you
I smile at her.
"I know, I know," my smile says, "He was neat before me."
How do I say that in a smile?
I just do it with a smirk and a confused look.
Where you trying to hurt me? My eyes ask.
Or is it really so fascinating to you how neat he used to be.
It's a past I can't compete with.
You only knew him then.
I was pretty fucking unbelievable myself- but you wouldn't know that.
I was healthy and ate three meals a day.
I was perfectly composed, amusing even. I was energetic and full of ideas and sometimes those ideas woke me up at dawn.
You wouldn't know it.
You see me as something broken. You see my body and all it's faults.
I smile.
Sometimes I like it so messy that he loses his stuff in it,
...and then himself.

R.S.V.P

2008-01-06T20:51:00.000-08:00

Frozen Eclairs can be the theme. I imagine a party hosted and only frozen eclairs served. Someone would say "But, aren't these meant to be defrosted." And I will look up in wonder. I thought the term frosted could mean more then just the chocolate glaze.
I don't want to have to be explained. I ask my brothers for some diet coke and they drive across town to a twenty four supermarket. They come home with frozen things. Fish sticks, Eclairs, ice cream - the only thing casually warm- is my diet coke. No pretenses- I'll drink it without ice.
I ask for my i-pod and watch the room without it's sounds. I hear the music and pretend I can write louder then my thoughts. Angrier. Run right the hell off with my sentences. Oh, how they run on and on.
I turn myself off just before I might turn on. You mistake my touch for want. I want the lights on. I want to see. I want to not put a stumbling block by my feet. I want sound on my computer, a keypad that moves, a computer that doesn't need to think before I see my words hit the screen.
I want to unwind and never have to feel the strings pull me back in. I want sleep to hit me like little slaps across my face. Sleep, damn it. Relax. Lie down and close your eyes and just forget.
It's a party we are all one day invited to. Made to tell who called us in. Who asked us to show ourselves up.
And here I am touching thirty. Up on my toes, wearing shoes I never thought I would walk in. Not even for a day.
Serving only frozen eclairs.
What would you do if you could see me now? Would you close your eyes?
Or would you pull my hair back,
turn me around,
remove the frozen eclair from my hand-
and ask,
"Isn't there anything else to eat around here?"

Background Music

2007-12-31T18:42:00.000-08:00

I try not hear the conversation in the next room.
I am fitted with my daughters pink Fischer Price earphones. My i-pod repeating itself. My brothers are saints. Their socks loaded with urine. "So that's why you wore shoes?" My brother said, when he stepped in a puddle. I shrugged. I am the last person standing for this job. I feel useless. My sex being the only thing that gets me at the other side of the door.
"dad said..."
"ma should..."
cancelled, redirected, unused trips. Coming back home too soon.
History repeating itself. Or staying still this year.
My brothers, I swear, are saints.
Only kids really.
I wear my adulthood like something I only just thought to put on.
I hear snippets of conversations.
Torn completely to shreds with my i-pod.
"what will the hospital do?"
And I don't answer.
For fear of being made to lead this conversation.

Love, its such a painful thing to grasp
and feel
slip away-
and out of your hands.

Gifted

2007-12-31T18:27:00.000-08:00

You taught me to hug hard.
To feel for things softly.
That to let go does not have to mean to leave.

I showed you how to text, but you taught me the art of it.
I smile because you have made me laugh.
In every tradition we now have-
you have taught me to accept that somethings do get repeated.

I learnt that there are drive by windows and drive by hugs.
I have steered us clear of road medians,
and I now know that an ice cap is the start of long night.

I can see our iced coffee's half empty in my cup holder
and tell exactly how our last nights conversation went.
Who spoke and who just chewed at the straw.

You have taught me that it's OK to want to run.
As long as it's in circles.
And maybe to watch you get your hairs pulled.

You have taught me things I thought I knew.
And now I know better.

You have showed me how to cook all night,
keep three jobs,
toast marshmallows on a stove top,
fly a kite,
and fall so fast asleep- you pass out.

The greatest gift you have given me is the way you run to me.
Like, as if, I could possible be worth something.
...to someone.

As Long As She Gets It

2007-12-31T17:24:00.000-08:00

Get this girl a calender.
Maybe some tact.
A cup of cold water thrown in her face.
A towel, she should know when to fold-
and how to throw it all in.

Her little lies, her big bows,
her manicured hands,
her hate.
She should learn to bow down,
to back away,
to start to unclench her fistfuls of words-
before they hit my face.

Get her a backbone,
not just a spine.
Get her a taste of revenge,
on her.
Not for her.

Get her the second last laugh,
and the best seat in the house,
for the last one-
before it hits her face.

Get her a semblance of pride.
A backyard door.
A bucket of colored chalk.
A voice that doesn't rise with self inflicted pain.
"I feel sooooooooooooo bad for you" She says.
You do?
How bad?

Get her a way to gauge her feelings,
before she parades them in my face.
Get her a list of all my thoughts
and how I can't stay angry at her.

Give her clues of how little I care.
Better yet,
don't tell her anything and let her act surprised.

A Decade Since

2007-12-31T17:16:00.000-08:00

Your re-dating her?
Is that a new trend?
Will she be different now, ten years later?

Will you think so, even if she stayed the same?

I remember her perfectly.
Without the hint of any truths.
I remember thinking she was better then me,
even in my shadows.

She spent ten years somewhere,
but now she is right there-
where we left her.

She sat beside me once in a theater,
and I remember thinking she should not be using my arm rest.
Her gigantic cup of soda dwarfed my water.
And I thought,
she is sitting in my space.

Now I am off and running,
and she has stayed so still.
Not for you, but for you to think it was for you.

I smile.
Because life is anything but circular.
Yes, it all comes back.
beginnings revisited.

But this time,
you wont see my shadows.

I won't cast anything but luck in your face.

I'll Give You This

2007-12-30T12:01:00.000-08:00

I look at you.
Not with judgement but with a searching look,
that leaves my eyes vacant.
I am judging myself.
How are we friends?
How did my youth prepare me for your adulthood?
How is sistership like this supposed to sail in uncharted waters.
I sink.

I see you smile and I don't want it explained.
I can be over things.
Feelings, emotions - even weight.
I cant justify my looks,
but I can tell you this:

I would back away from any confrontation and let you shine.
I would look down if you needed me to.
I would walk slowly backwards, stumbling even,
to not meet your eyes.

If you would have looked you would have seen,
the flicker of disappointment set in.
Then light a fire.

If I were your true friend I would forgive you this.
Is that a blanket statement?
Because I'll wear it like a scout at a campfire.

I'll do what I need to do to keep being friends with you.

I'll tell you the things you shouldn't hear.
I'll listen to the things you shouldn't say.

I'll fiercely protect you from anyone who might be misguided.
I will.

I'll be the friend I never imagine being,
and you can keep being the girl I did not think you were.

And we can laugh.
Heartily

Someone's

2007-12-29T22:19:00.001-08:00

He is someone's
You know him and then I don't know you.
The way his hair feels,
and then I don't feel for you.
I know you.
I know you like I have known myself.

I have dug my heels back and held still-
felt hairs moving under my nails.
I was that good.

I would tilt my head back and somewhere,
someone would feel it.

I see your eyes and the way they lock.
I know your looks because I have given them.

I want to take your hands and undo them.
From someone else's pain.

I want to show you how my hands have stains.
How I can not just come clean.

How your smile frightens me.
Then reminds me.

Of someone else.

Of Other Things

2007-12-29T22:00:00.000-08:00

My punishment comes in the form of my undisciplined heart. It aches and your memory is too easily remembered. I was once thankless and now I'm left in debt. My smile forms then disappears and it's all because I'm not the girl I never appreciated being. And I wonder, I always have. Time passes, pauses, leaves me wishing yesterday was lived in with less risk. I watch other peoples beauty no longer marvelling at my own. I never did, but I had the capacity too. My waste is felt inside my lined stomach. It twists with my ill mixes of fat and starchy crabs and I keep thinking my life was sweeter in Miami eating jello for supper.
My family cares too much and I am thinking of them too little.
This is 1am and I can't believe I'm still lonely and almost thirty. Sitting in my house writing two bit thoughts to myself. I need to get rid of your smile and the way you look at me.
I like watching you love me. Your love is tangible to me. I feel it surround me and it's comfort level is terrifying. So is 1am and this writing ringing in my head.
Your voice is so easy to hate. It's softness stills me, but once calmed I forever hate the place you have taken me to.
Our scenery is not familiar to me.
So here we are, you and me and all our words.
I want to spin you in circles and when you are dizzy, I want to leave you.
I will feel like myself.
And you can give all your energy to a better project.
Tonight.
I left gasping for air.
My mouth a perfect oval, gasping for a breath of someone Else's fresh air.
Not yours.
You would give me yours,
But I would say, "no thank you"
Because in every offer, lies the ability for me to turn around.
and around.
In circles of "no" till I back, so the HELL far back-
no one knows,
I ever came so close.
Waving flags of friendships and back bent with promises of forever.

Make A List. Check It Twice

2007-12-25T20:02:00.000-08:00

It's the repetition of a beautiful lie told over and over again.
It's the way your truth leaves me feeling lied to.
It's the way your voices pitches before it breaks and cries.
It's the one thing I never imagined I would give to you.
It's the last thing that's always on my mind.
Its the moment before sleep hits me.
It's the way you move me to places I have never been before.
It's the touch I think you left on me.
It's the look I see in your eyes.
It's you unloving me quickly.
It's you and me and all the things I wish we did.
It's time pulling it's fancy tricks right through me.
It's you with sleep draining across your face.
It's your scent and the way it follows me.
It's the way love touches us both.
It's the explanations you never give.
It's your face not finding mine.
It's the way I watch you watch me.
It's my pain and your compassion.
It's the way I told you and tell you- you are goodness.
It's the in explainable silence.
It's you not asking whats on my mind.
It's our hearts breaking.
It's my hand holding yours still.
It's the looks you never give me.
It's the ones I take from you.
It's the voice I use to tell you the things I need to hear.
It's the love you keep.
It's the parts you give.
It's in all the times I tell you- who you are to me.
It's for you.
It's never for anyone else.
It's my past catching up on me.
It's for the way you see me run.
It's for all the words I haven't strung together.
It's for the silence we are headed for.
It's for the only way I know out.
It's for you.
It's always only and always will be for you.
It's my love wrapped in words.
It's your kindness undisturbed.
It's the pride I have in who you are.
It's the way I feel when I am with you.
It's all you.
It's not anything, but, always...
YOU.

He Breaks My Fall

2007-12-25T19:54:00.001-08:00

Its my house and the way I left it.
Coiled toys, uncoiled.
My grandmothers spun.
The way the door opens,
and I catch my kids awake.

Bedtime hits in intervals.
Swings and misses.
The girl with no childhood bed time enforces them,
and I think you know I have been up to no good.

My husband smiles,
I tell him I can read his smiles in my sleep.
His beard starts to grow... on me
I like to see his smile spread to the corners of his face.
Fully bearded he seems safer.
Easier to read.

My house is the way I left it.
He sees that.
Dishes piled.
Floors unswept.
His home unkept.

His little girls awake.
My sleep stolen.
My hands reach for the sink.
The cold water.
The breakfast dishes.

He sleeps.
I read his smile.
And I look down at my hands wrinkling.
He mocks me.

But even his mocking smiles,
turns my world upside down.

What I Dont Blog

2007-12-24T20:19:00.000-08:00

I know my text will wake you up.
So I don't text.

I know my cry will wake me up.
So I don't cry.

I sit still and type and try to hear the words I am not saying.

Sing It Like You Mean It

2007-12-20T18:29:00.001-08:00

I am so unbelievably sad right now.
But, I am doing everything right.

I'm blogging in the dark.
I have dance music on.

Ella. Ella. Ella.
Get this Damn girl an umbrella.

How is that sexy?
That it's raining?

And if they are gonna shine- they'll shine together.

I'm too angry that I don't get it.
He wants to be under her umbrella?

Baby its raining!

Well over here- its F'ing storming.
And I have no umbrella.
Say that. Umbrella. One word.

If I were to stress a syllable.
It would be Um, Um, Um....
not Ella.

Um. Um. Um.
I don't know how to tell you.
I would sing.
That I just walked outside.
It was sunny. I was happy.
But, then it started to spit on my head.
It was G-d. I know it.
Just spitting on my head.
Then it F'ing poured.
Thundered. I was soaking wet.
So ill prepared.
I started walking faster.
then I just looked down, gave up...
and sat in a puddle.

Um, Um, Um...
can you share your...
um, um, um..
I can't say it. But I need to stand under your..
um, um, um...
Umbrella.

Anything To Let Go

2007-12-20T18:15:00.000-08:00

It's all here.
All the proof of no longer being twenty.
I read about a woman who married six times and had two great loves.
neither of whom she married.

I can't get her life out of my head.
Was she ever twenty like me?
The twenty I thought would last forever?

Sure, age would sneak itself onto me and cast frown lines across my face,
but my heart I believed,
would beat wild forever.

Now my heart seems to pause before every beat.
I overwork my heart.
My emotions.
My hormones that make me scream angry woman angst when the showers are so hot-
that even I wonder if I let go of that yell.

I wonder about that woman and if six times was really enough to forget the two men she never married.

Or better yet, was it enough to make the men feel forgotten?

I will always believe that in the light my life shines,
it casts hues on my leftover men.
Their limbs waving wildly at me.
Not to love me, because G-d knows I am unlovable.
But just to hold me.
To make me know friendship.
To make me look up from their tight embrace and catch their eyes loving me.
"your true friend," they would whisper, "Knows you can do anything."

Is "anything" like the feeling I had today when my grandmother who survived world war two asked me to lose some of my excess weight.
To allow myself to shine through my skins.
Is "anything" like holding onto a past so fanciful, so full of footwork,
that even i feel winded by the memory?

And you.
What about you?
Will you always call me into play?
Will I always retreat into my heart?

Is "anything" ever going to feel like the right choice to me?
Is diet coke really the safest drink to be swallowing?
Should I ask for water?

Do I believe if I turned back the heavy handles of time- I would choose freely this time?
Free of what?
What does "anything" really cost?
and how much does it weigh?

Someones On The Phone For You

2007-12-19T21:58:00.000-08:00

I hear myself talk.
The story unfolds on my lap.
Blond hair. Trophy couple.
Young Love.
...and I'm just dying to show off my scars.

This Is My Memory

2007-12-18T21:15:00.000-08:00

You always call me into play.
Always.
Like a damn near broken record.
Playing.
Playing on.
I am so turned off.
I could sprawl on this bed and catch you watching.

You are too many digits too easily remembered.
You are the reason I use caller id.

My phone can be off, or changed,
or gifted to me.
But you still have the same ring.
I can dress you up,
but you still come to me dressed down.

My memory is brutally sharp.
I left you a thousand times,
and I still feel you next to me.
Remind me why I never felt you let go?

When I retell a story and your in it,
I see you smile.
You knew I would retell them one day.

And so you waited.
You left yourself right where we were,
in hopes I would come back one day.

And here I am retelling tales.
And I have to play the shocked little girl.
Oh, look who we have here?

But you never left did you?
You never left?

The A Is Silent

2007-12-18T19:14:00.000-08:00

"Miriam?"

Whats in a name?
I don't know if it's not mine.

I know my name is symbolic.
Its the name my parents gave me instead of finding one from the ashes
of my massacred relatives.

My mother didn't want me or my sisters to carry a heavy name.
She wanted a name that had not been snubbed out too early.
She wanted something she liked.
Also, something she would mispronounce.

Like carnival and ridiculous,
my name took on an accent.
And when I heard my mother call me,
I felt her stop on my O and pull on my A.
She had a way of making vowels ring.

Today I almost answered to "Miriam."
I shrugged and pulled back my shoulders.
I could be "Miriam" If I cared.

But I do not care.
I do not pretend to have cares.
Or concerns.
That a woman who does not know me,
sees me as Miriam.

And all the faces for who I was not named,
seem vacant.
Searching for my namesake,
in all the wrong places.

I told you,
my mother-
she just liked the name.

"I Like You Just The Way You Are"

2007-12-17T18:09:00.001-08:00

Happiness comes with heartache.
You take the happiness and shy away from the pain.

Happiness in a cup of frozen ice blended coffee.
Ordered through a drive through window.
With straws and change,
and the fastest window action you have ever seen from foreigners.

You get left with straws, nickles and dimes.
Somewhat shortchanged.

Your music taste has changed.
And so what if you think you can dance like she does?
You can't.

Happiness comes in knowing you can't do it all.
But, maybe you can still have it all.
That you can have a friend who catches your tears,
without them having to fall.

In popcorn and high fat foods eaten with pride.
Because you never felt so comfortable in your skins,
till you typed this right out.

You used to write your blog with the saddest music blaring from your computer.
Then it lost its sound and you couldn't find your voice.
Now you blare Timbaland from your I-Pod
and think thoughts of happiness.

Happiness in similarities and perfectly timed texts.
In sisterhood and the drive out of this neighbor hood.

And how now if you drive endlessly,
you can always change the station...
and listen to something a little less dramatic.

That's happiness.

Fighting For You

2007-12-16T15:48:00.000-08:00

I hear your voice and the way it breaks into pieces.
I pick up your slack and all your unsaid words.

How come the things you say,
never match the expression on your face?

Even My Own Mother

2007-12-16T10:59:00.000-08:00

I try to drown her out, but over her waters- I see her waving wildly at me.

Unforgetable Blue Ink Days

2007-12-16T09:39:00.000-08:00

I see it in the papers I write on.
How limited a space we all have.
How we intrude on each others spaces...
and you feel the pains of being touched.

I took it up again,
the scribbled angry blue ink spots of my teenage years.
I took it back with a passion.
Timely, you could say.

I see it in the way you retell a story to me,
pausing for effect,
when really you lose me in every well thought out gap.
The effect is all in the way you accuse me,
I hear nothing but your accusations.

I knew it then and I don't stop knowing it now.
Not because I can online shop.
Not because I can drive a four wheeled vehicle,
and never because I am forever older then you.

I don't stop.
And you words find a way to catch up to me.
Friendship you think doesn't fit me.
Its to loose a garb to hide under.
And you smile,
"I still see you." You seem to say.

Well seem to say this.
I can find happiness outside a box,
and still be boxed in.

I can talk and still not talk about you.

I can have a friend and still not forget you.

Lost In The Explanation

2007-12-10T08:19:00.001-08:00

Don't make me explain myself to you.

Your Secret Is Safe With Me

2007-12-09T14:48:00.000-08:00

I want to tell you a little something about secrecy
and how it festers

A little secret in cupped hands,
starts to overflow
before long you have to hold your arms across your chest,
to stop its ebb...

But its white
and pure and you have all the best of intentions.
but, you don't have mine.

You secretive little boy.
I have been on this playground before.
And I will tell you,
monkey bars were never quite my thing.

I was never one for timing.
I always guessed to much and fell to hard,
and in the moment before I hit the sand,
I thought,
I should have held on with two hands,
a bit longer.

You have the timing down to an art.
Two hands closed.
You leave me with nothing but presumption,
and the way I must have felt...
eating pavement at seven years old.

Its all for the glory of the secret keeper.
And you waive it all to have the last look.
But, I told you...
I have been on this playground before.

And although I might not know when to let go.
I know when to not hold on.

Thoughtless

2007-12-09T09:01:00.000-08:00

I thought.
Please dont throw up.
I cant get out what I pushed in.
I cant see my self in pieces on the floor,
with a toilet bowl cradling my chin.

I thought.
I could not have danced.
Feet should not have their own say.
They will cross you, then leave you without shoes.
Or soles.

I thought.
I could drink myself away.
To you.
with moves I do not have or hold.
Not with an audiance, never with a stranger,
always with the promise I just might not recognize myself.

I thought.
How unbelievably embaressing.
But it was planned.
Chugging back vodka laced with sugared cranberries.
It was so unbelievably believable.
This time.

I did not think.

Slow Motion

2007-12-06T11:47:00.001-08:00

I.
Have.
Been.
Here.
Before.
Slow walks, speed talks- the price of nothing known,
I.
Have.
Been.
Here.
All.
Along.
knowing there will be a price to pay.

Disturbing A Peace

2007-12-05T16:39:00.000-08:00

Attentive to your needs. Needing to know your wants.
She learnt your walk quick. In order to outrun you.

12:50

2007-12-05T14:30:00.000-08:00

Another night died in her arms.
She stroked the F---er to sleep. Just like that. He was wound up too tightly, too coiled, too had to, have to have me. She put him down for the duration of her fancied life. She placed him so perfectly, so poised on the edge of what she thought was his seat. It all goes on, in circles from here. She tip toes, twirls away. She slips out, in, back, forth with only him. She came, she had it all, she left....she left him right there. "I'll be right the hell back." she said without the hint of truth. She said it all so well, so wrung out, so damn quietly to only herself. At night it all dies. Not even a well thought out scent can last through the darkness before we plunge into day. All mine. The day is all mine.
The nothingness. Another day and you die all over again. Under my brutal probing touch. She strokes you to hurt you. Nothing to do with sleep. Just the unconscious motions of her deliberate mind. Her want to unravel you. To revel in you. To just leave. Just like that. Her. She. Is. Me.
It all dies under her desire. Her wishes come true. She wants to have you, not at all, no one else... she ruins you for other nights spent. Unslept. Unsatisfied. You crave it like you are supposed to. Just not enough. Just like you, but not like the others. Another night, another chance. Another lie spread out on virginal sheets.... she's counting down. away. to you, for you. It's all over. Begun. Unfold. I fold.
Whatever the F--- did you think we had?

Midnight Snack

2007-12-04T21:10:00.000-08:00

Macaroni past midnight should always be wrong.
But after a day of grapes- it should be sinful.
Not seductive.
Like when you think you are being teased,
and then taken.

Like too many portions of me.
I think you know it.
All the times I have tried to hold you,
you move my arms and hold me.

I don't even taste food anymore.
It just fills all the places you can never reach.
Coats it all in sugared finery,
but look who is still red with sin?

I move and the house feels my weight,
like a balancing act without any scales,
I tip,
and you totter.
Something is so childish about my stance.

I eat macaroni past midnight?
Whats your excuse?
I try to swallow my pride-
but it's the only thing that tastes like anything anymore.

Shiny, New.

I swear I don't even recognize myself anymore.
I swear it.

And then, just as my religion would have it-
the man gets to void all my oaths.

What am I left with besides my macaroni?

The Going Rate Just Got Going

2007-12-03T18:09:00.000-08:00

Money matters and then its spent.
Like a casual affair, you spread yourself out,
only to find it is too thin.
I spend and feel like loose change.

Pennies really.

I try not to think about the mattress you sleep on.
How money does not buy happiness-
is misconstrued.
It buys it repeatedly.
It just never keeps it.

I always look down so our eyes don't meet.
Like guilty pleasures and sinful glances,
I can't see how little you already have.
I wait until it's all gone.

Then I can build from your scratch.

Somewhere in all the gifts,
is a daughters face
and the guilt life has etched on it.

Oh Brother

2007-12-03T18:02:00.000-08:00

This is for you.
Because you said I whirl the poetic.

My brother,
I would hope you see me whole.
Not broken.
But in my hopes I know you see me.
Twisted sideways cramming whipped foods into my mouth.

That's not poetry.
Poetry is giving you something to think about.
Not work for.

I feel myself in your new skins.
The way you touch your jeans and hold your arms out,
reminds me of myself in those years.
tight clothes and the urge to be less restricted.

But you will never be who I was.
Broken and stolen.
Cheap and used.
Wild and still able to act pure.

Like a Poem I explain too easily,
when we all know I have riddled you up on purpose.

Thank you then for all your compliments.
You will never know how much they mean to me.

All I Can Afford: Cheap Perfume

2007-12-02T20:07:00.000-08:00

Betrayal smells so good on me.
Like the scent was bottled for my body type.
The Fat girl trades her family in for friendship.
So typical.

But, I hate myself in it.
And I shower often with more then soap.
I feel my spoken words as a presence around me.
They make me feel naked,
when all I really like is thick, dark clothes.

And I am so uncomfortable in my skins.
They mark me pale and translucent,
and I see you seeing me,
and I am not that light.

I try to dress it up in my familiar colors
of black on black,
but my words have painted me a chameleon,
and I hate the way I am starting to look like you.
Colorful.

I even smell like you.
Because I have always believed betrayal should leave its mark.
A scent.
That others can follow.

Your Voice I Know Well

2007-12-02T19:48:00.000-08:00

Your voice.
It's the thread I hold onto.
Its the tone I know well,
repeated,
then coated.
You find a way to touch me from so far away.

I am quiet.
It's not the silent type, it's the one that beats loud in your heart.
I can't speak,
and then we are speaking.
As if time never passed and we never stood so still.
Apart.

Together.
We are magnified.
I look too big in your lights and you are moving to large.
But, in your voice...
everything falls into place.

Distorting facts I thought were truths.
I love you.
In your silence,
in your speech.
In the way I need to just G-d damn be me.
And you respect it.

I am smiling now.
I forgot how it felt to touch the skies.

Too Honest And Mostly Too Kind

2007-12-02T15:56:00.000-08:00

Now I blare angry songs at every red light and people stare at me from neighboring cars, because they sense I have lost something.

Another Accessory

2007-12-02T15:50:00.000-08:00

Hate isn't such a big word after all. It's small enough to fit in your purse. To wear it like a satchel over your shoulder. To take it out and use it at family gatherings.
So Handy.
Like when I see you smile and I have to think of a word that does not start with bitch.
I always have hate.
Its comforting. A plaything to toss back and forth in my hands, just to keep me warm and satisfied.
Easier than thinking up new words to disguise my feelings.
"Oh she's Sweet." Or "Isn't her whole family just lovely?"
Sweet, lovely. Makes me want to swing my purse full of hate in her face.
Imagine how she would look with my contents staining her white skirts.
My hate, my angst.
My G-d awful excuses.
"No, I can not watch your son. Your daughter. Your house. Your home. Your life. I'm busy."
Or bored. Maybe even a little bit of sad.
Walking, sometimes even running, anywhere but here...
with a very big word stuffed inside my bag.

Fall Down. Hug Up

2007-12-02T15:34:00.000-08:00

I've fallen and I cant get up, sounds so cliched.
But my finger was throbbing and its the finger I usually use to pull up my weight.
all two hundred and forty pounds of me.
So I had to use the other nine.
My brother looked amused.
He had this look on his lips,
like as if... he could not have thrown me down better.
Pursed,
and then paused.
letting the neighbor dust me off.
My coat of snow and shame.

When she hugged me, I felt funny.
"hey, I do this now!" I thought to say.
I give hugs, get hugs,
and when I end up on my butt on a sheet of ice,
I can stand up
and give a good solid hug.

I do that now.
I think my neighbor might wonder,
why I planted such a heavy hug on her?
But I cant shake this feeling...
This happy, go lucky, go drive by and hug...
feeling.

And my brother he smiled.
Laughing at the look of me hugging this woman.
And the way my head must have looked naked
with his hands full of my wig.

I See You, You Don't See Me

2007-12-01T22:35:00.001-08:00

Five hours in your house left me dizzy.
Did you spin me silly?
Or do I just like awkward, well planned pronunciations...
of Screw you!
That's what you were saying, weren't you.
Screw you! Screw your friends! Screw your family!
Screw the hand that feeds your fanciful face!
I mean, you flowered it up,
you tied it all with a nice bow-
but your stuff still reeks like jealousy.
and Pent up revenge.
I see you and I see dollar signs.
I see a hunger for a want you cant fill.
And I get so dizzy.
It makes me tired watching you pace and rant.
Like a panting dog.
I am most definitely not scared.
Just amused.
Then dizzy.
You spin me so unbelievable silly-
with your big words and small mind.
So silly.
Little boy? Isn't it past your bedtime?

Lightly Frosted Please

2007-12-01T22:27:00.000-08:00

You laugh and it snows.
I try to cry sometimes but it comes out like little gasps.
And you roar with laughter.
I stretch out my hands to throw a snowball and they coil in frost bitten terror.
You aim well.
I brush back pieces of my wig,
wondering how ice melts on these things.
You don't ever have to know,
that I was your friend first.
With greetings and new days,
come the most predictable of goodbyes.
Didn't a great man once say,
each new day brings us one day closer to our death.
Didn't I say something?
oh yes...
I always say something.
Well here's to the first of many snows,
and the friendships of teenagers.

You Fancy Little....

2007-12-01T15:16:00.000-08:00

I can not wait to write tonight.
Its excitement is mounting like the words you used.
Well intended, my friend.
Rolled right off your tongue and now they will be splattered on my blog.
...for my brothers to read.
For my mind to wrap itself around.
The written word, we know, is so much more powerful then your voice.
So, I shall get my kids to bed and return to tuck my blog in.

Why I Don't Blog It Right Out

2007-11-21T19:22:00.000-08:00

I have just read some of my recent posts and in their run-on-and-on sentences, lies the reason why I have not written in awhile.
I can't write truthfully on here anymore.
I can only write when I'm happy and come on- admit it! That's not fun.
You want to know why I'm on my knees somewhere and no one hears my crying.?
You need to know why I don't feel safe writing.
Why I never really could.
Why crumpled papers serve me better then these pages.
And you wonder, You wonder why I haven't lost any weight and why my posts are so moody?You find yourself picturing my face and I have no smile.
I have given up on so much of myself,
to make room for all the You's.

Sister Friend

2007-11-21T18:50:00.001-08:00

You don't have to hold on as tightly as I do.
You can just hold on.

Again, and again and again

2007-11-21T18:43:00.000-08:00

Some things I will never feel again.
You know it well.
You knew when you left me,
I would only remember leaving you.

I wont ever feel that age again.
Even though I taste it in every binge.
I wont feel it.

Some things don't get named.
You knew it.
And I, I knew only you.

Some things I will never feel again.
In your memory I hide the tears.
And I never feel them decorating my face.
I have cried before,
died before.
I have held my hands to my face...

some things I will never feel again.
Some things I only hear when the music is so loud,
I can see the sounds.

The way a mouth opens to scream,
the way an eye closes to tear...
The way I know somethings I will never feel again.